


U.N.C.L.E.'s Liaisons

by hyesoh



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Gaby Teller Ships Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo, M/M, Minor Charles/Erik
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 22:19:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5603008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyesoh/pseuds/hyesoh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon has no innuendo filter, Gaby speaks Fangirl, and Illya cannot with English sometimes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	U.N.C.L.E.'s Liaisons

**Author's Note:**

> This is Day 7 of my crazy one-chapter/fic-per-day-for-one-week promise to the fandom gods. I hope you guys enjoyed the updates. :)

“Why it is not allowed to play chess?” Illya asked as he entered their shared room in Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. As Waverly instructed, they were to stay in the school until Gaby finishes her Ms. Universe talk of world peace with the Brotherhood and convince them to have a negotiation with the X-Men. Meanwhile, Professor Xavier was more than happy to have two male non-mutant guests providing feedback on his school, so Napoleon and Illya spent the majority of their time roaming around, sitting in the back of classrooms while lessons are going on, and basically doing nothing dangerous. (Except that one time when Illya wrestled with Logan to demonstrate judo to the students.) “It is chess. Not Russian roulette.”

Napoleon didn’t even bother to set aside the newspaper he was reading. “Well, apparently, the professor and Magneto had a thing before all this, and playing chess was their hobby. That is, until they had an epic tumble on the Cuban sand, which crippled one of them.”

He glanced up and saw that Illya’s face was pinched. Well. At least he got the innuendo.

“This thing they had,” Illya said instead of commenting on epic tumbles. “What thing is this?”

Language barriers. Right. Napoleon would explain in Russian, but he was having too much fun with Illya asking him things he didn’t know had something to do with sex or romance. “They were involved with each other, Peril. Biblically.” And before Illya could ask what the Bible had to do with it, Napoleon added, “They were in a romantic relationship and had lots of sex.”

Ha. There it is. The rare wide-eyed look Napoleon only saw once before (and in a torture chamber, no less) that was more surprise than horror. He couldn’t help but smirk. “Are you imagining it?”

“No,” Illya said flatly. Which means he totally imagined it. “And I do not want to know what you’re imagining either, Cowboy.”

“I’m not imagining anything,” Napoleon said. At Illya’s unimpressed stare, he amended, “Not right now, anyway. I was just thinking about the reason why Waverly would send Gaby to do the talking when I’m the one with the talented mouth.”

Unfortunately, the innuendo soared way past Illya’s head. “If wise words are all that is needed, then don’t you think Mr. Xavier would’ve convinced them by now?”

“True,” Napoleon said, not willing to give up so easily. “Charles does have quite a lovely mouth on him.”

The heavy footsteps signalling Illya’s walk-out made him grin and turn a page. Ah, blessed silence.

\--

“So I was thinking,” Gaby began. Illya’s lips thinned. Many bad ideas were born and executed just because Gaby introduced a topic with those four words. (But at least now, Napoleon wasn’t there to hear it.) “Do you want to hear it?”

He sighed into the receiver. “Do I have a choice?”

He could almost see her pouting. “You know, Illya, if you’re going to be Mr. Disagreeable today, I’m just going to wait for Napoleon to get back from...what was it you said he was doing?”

“Talking to Mr. McCoy about Cerebro.”

“So is he talking to Hank about Cerebro, or is he _‘talking to Hank about Cerebro?’_ ”

Illya frowned. English just didn’t make sense sometimes. “You just repeated what you said.”

“Never mind, then,” Gaby said. “As I was saying, I was thinking why Mr. Waverly assigned me to be UNCLE’s liaison officer to the Brotherhood, while the two of you get to chill with all the boys. Don’t get me wrong--Janos and Azazel are hot as well; and Angel, Emma, and Raven are super fun.” Illya opened his mouth to ask if the four of them had already substantially decreased the Brotherhood’s funds by shopping for clothes, but Gaby wasn’t done. “But then I thought, what if he didn’t mean to assign me to the Brotherhood? What if he thought about you and Napoleon first?”

“I did entertain thought that Erik Lehnsherr will kill Cowboy if he tries to be smart with him or steal his helmet for fun.”

“Most probably,” Gaby agreed. “But what if--and this is just a what if--what if Mr. Waverly assigned you to the X-Men because the two of you would remind Mr. Xavier and the boys about what it was like before Cuba? I mean, think about it. Mr. Xavier used to be quite the charmer when he was younger, while Erik had all this pent-up anger inside him.”

“You’re saying we’re like the two of them, but without superpowers.”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

And that’s just it. Illya did think about it, and couldn’t help but wonder if he and Napoleon are walking along the same road that ends in disaster. Not that they were biblically involved or anything.

Gaby’s words cut through his thoughts. “Shit, are you brooding?”

“No, I am not brooding,” Illya said almost automatically. “I am thinking.”

“Good, because I’m not yet done,” Gaby said. “So I talked to the girls about these two non-mutant guys I know--don’t worry, I didn’t say any names--who are kinda like Erik and Mr. Xavier, and I told them about all the UST moments I have to suffer watching--”

“UST?”

“--and did you know what they said? They said the two of you are definitely OTP material, and that you have a better chance to become canon if--”

“Gaby, I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” Illya said, because he didn’t. At all. Perhaps Gaby learned a new sublanguage with words that are untranslatable to English.

“You know what, never mind. I’ll go talk to Azazel and ask if he could put the two of you inside a panic room or something.”

“Gaby--”

“TTYL, Illya.”

The busy tone sounded then, and Illya cursed in Russian.

\--

Napoleon returned sometime after sunset to change into something less gym-with-Logan-and-science-with-Hank and more dinner-with-the-rich-extended-family. His face looked like he did something bad. (He probably stole another potentially dangerous chemical from Hank’s lab. Again.) Then again, his face always looks like that. “Evening, Peril.”

Illya grunted. He had picked up Napoleon’s English newspaper from awhile ago out of boredom, and was currently frowning at the crossword puzzle. “Gaby called.”

“Any progress?”

“Aside from a new pair of Ferragamo shoes and a Louis Vuitton dress, not much.” He looked up. “What does UST and OTP stand for?”

Napoleon’s eyebrows rose.“Who was she talking about? Erik and Charles?”

Illya frowned. “You and me. Why?”

“Ah. Well then.” Illya watched as Napoleon ditched the necktie he had picked up and chose a bow-tie instead. “I’ll tell you if you move away from that table, don't approach any other table, and won’t try to kill me.”

Illya didn’t roll his eyes, but it was a close thing. “I really doubt a couple of acronyms is going to make me want to kill you, Cowboy.”

\--

“I’m going to kill you,” Illya said after the two of them woke up early the next day to find themselves in a panic room with a bed, a box of condoms, and a fairly intimidating amount of sex toys.

Napoleon ignored him and continued reading a copy of _A Picture of Dorian Gray_ that Gaby graciously left on his side of the bed. Or at least, what he thinks is his side of the bed. The other side had nothing but stress balls, so he was pretty sure that was Illya’s side of the bed.

When Illya repeated his words a few minutes later while he was pacing around the room, Napoleon decided to humor him and give him a listening audience. “Just me?”

Illya turned to him. His fists were clenched against his sides, so Napoleon held his hands up in surrender. “What?”

“You’re going to kill just me? Not Azazel, or Gaby, or Waverly--”

“Obviously, I’m going to start with you.”

“Well, that’s comforting.” Napoleon said. He figured it was only a short amount of time before Gaby sends Azazel to bring them back (Charles always wants perfect attendance during breakfast), but for now, he contented himself in watching Illya speed-walk in an enclosed space.

“If we have super powers, we would be out of here in a second.”

Napoleon shrugged and, because he could never resist reaching a hand inside a hungry carnivore’s cage, said, “If we have superpowers, and if we had Charles and Erik’s superpowers specifically, I imagine you’ll just try to bury me under the earth encased in six-foot thick metal while I unconsciously or consciously project inappropriate thoughts at you.”


End file.
